150 FOOTING IT IN FRANCONIA 



some of the more iuteresting titles that are 

 applied to us, all in honest vernacular, be- 

 hind our backs. This year's goldthread 

 leaves gave me more pleasure than most 

 blossoms could have done; lustrous, ele- 

 gantly shaped, and in threes. Threes are 

 prettier than fours, I said to myself, as I 

 looked at some four-leaved specimens of 

 dwarf cornel growing on the same bank. 

 The comparison was hardly decisive, it is 

 true, since the cornus leaves lacked the 

 goldthread's shapeliness and brilliancy ; but 

 I believe in the grace of the odd number. 

 With trifles like these I was entertaining 

 the time when a man on a buckboard reined 

 in his horse and invited me to ride. He 

 was going down the Gale River road a 

 piece, he said, and as this was my course 

 also I thankfully accepted the lift. I would 

 go farther than I had intended, and would 

 spend the forenoon in loitering back. My 

 host had two or three tin pails between his 

 feet, and I was not surprised when he told 

 me that he was " going berrying." What 

 did surprise me was to find, fifteen minutes 

 later, when I got on my legs again, that 



